I was a mineral prospector in Chengdu, who transmigrated into the body of a mortal sword immortal.

The moment the fingertips touched the bronze door panel, the world collapsed.

It wasn't a physical collapse, but a complete upheaval of perception. The cold, rough, and slippery sensation vanished instantly, replaced by a weightless, plummeting feeling. The colossal bronze gate before him, etched with mountains of corpses and seas of blood, rippled like water ripples the moment his fingertips touched it, transforming into countless twisting waves. The dark red mist suddenly expanded, engulfing him entirely.

The sounds of mourning, weeping, and desperate groans suddenly amplified a hundredfold in my ears.

It didn't come from afar, but rather surged from all directions, from the depths of his bones, from every crevice of his soul. Countless sounds intertwined, forming an indescribable, chilling noise. Li Bai felt his eardrums vibrating, his temples throbbing, and the stench of rust and decay in his nostrils was so intense it almost suffocated him.

He instinctively gripped the Azure Lotus Sword tighter.

The sword hummed, and a bluish light instinctively shone, attempting to dispel the surrounding darkness and despair. But this time, the bluish light only illuminated an area of ​​less than three feet around it; beyond that, there was a thick, swirling, dark red mist.

The feeling of falling lasted for about three breaths.

Then, I felt a sensation under my feet.

It wasn't solid ground, but... something sticky, soft, and warm. Li Bai looked down, and in the bluish light, he saw himself standing in a patch of dark red mud. In the mud, half-buried was a severed, blackened arm, the fingers curled up, the nails filled with dirt and scabs.

He suddenly lifted his foot.

Look around.

Where the blue light reaches, there is hell.

Smoke of war.

As far as the eye could see, flames raged everywhere. Thick black smoke, like dying pythons, twisted and crawled towards the hazy sky. In the distance, the outline of a city was faintly visible in the firelight; most of the city walls had collapsed, revealing charred beams and broken ruins. The air was filled with the acrid smell of burning wood, the stench of charred corpses, and an even more pungent, sweet-smelling odor reminiscent of burning grease.

The fields are barren.

What should have been a fertile field with rolling rice paddies was now nothing but scorched earth and fallen, withered stalks of crops. Scattered along the field ridges were broken farm tools—a hoe with a broken handle, half-buried in the soil; a water jug ​​cracked in two, its fragments stained with dried, dark red grime. Further away, several desiccated corpses lay huddled by the field, their coarse cloth clothes tattered, revealing their bony ribs and shriveled skin.

The people were displaced.

At the edge of the bluish light, a group of figures were wriggling.

No, it's not wriggling, it's... crawling.

They were a group of refugees. Men, women, and children were all there, but it was difficult to discern their ages and genders from their appearance. Their clothes were tattered, and their faces, hands, and exposed skin were covered in filth and wounds. A woman held a swaddled baby; the baby was quiet, too quiet. The woman's eyes were vacant; she moved forward mechanically. An old man leaned on a branch, stopping every few steps to cough violently, his phlegm streaked with blood. Several children followed behind the adults, their faces devoid of childlike innocence, only showing numbness and fear.

They passed by Li Bai, but it was as if they didn't see him at all.

No, it's not that I didn't see it, it's that... I saw it, but there was no reaction in my eyes. It was an emptiness that came after utter despair, as if my soul had been ripped out, leaving only a shell moving instinctively.

Corpses littered the fields.

Further ahead, there was a depression.

The depression was piled high with corpses.

Not just a few, not dozens, but... layers upon layers, like sheaves of wheat piled up after harvest. There were commoners in tattered clothes, soldiers in tattered leather armor, and even a few corpses of wealthy people dressed in silk, but stripped down to their underwear. The bodies had begun to decompose, and swarms of flies buzzed irritatingly. Maggots writhed in their eye sockets, mouths, noses, and wounds, a white mass. A stench assaulted Li Bai's nostrils, a sweet, pungent, fishy stench unique to rotting protein, mixed with the smell of feces and blood, making his stomach churn.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the sword.

This is not an illusion.

At least, not entirely.

The sensory impact was too real. The smell of burning filled my nostrils, irritating my mucous membranes; the stench was almost solidified, sticking to my skin; in my ears were the sounds of wind, fire, distant shouts of battle, the numb footsteps of nearby people, and suppressed sobs; the muddy feel under my feet was warm and gritty; everything before my eyes—the colors, the light and shadow, the details—was terrifyingly real.

This is a "calamity for all living beings".

It is a calamity forged by the suffering of all living beings.

"Boom!"

A muffled thunderous sound came from afar.

It wasn't thunder.

It was the sound of horses' hooves.

The earth trembled, and ripples spread across the muddy ground. The fleeing people, like a frightened herd of beasts, let out terrified howls and tried to quicken their pace, but their strength had long been exhausted, and their so-called "speeding up" was just a more staggering and unsteady stumble.

On the horizon, a dark mass of cavalry appeared.

They wore haphazard leather armor, some even shirtless, and brandished scimitars, spears, and maces. Horses' manes flew, their hooves pounding the scorched earth, kicking up mud and ash. Leading them was a burly, menacing general, who laughed wildly, pointing his scimitar at the fleeing crowd.

"Kill! Leave no one alive!"

"The wealth and the women are all ours!"

Rough shouts drifted on the wind, carrying a foreign accent.

An Lushan's rebel army.

Li Bai stood rooted to the spot, watching the cavalry charge into the fleeing crowd like wolves pouncing on sheep. Scimitars swung down, spraying blood; spears thrust forth, piercing thin bodies; maces crashed down, the sound of skulls shattering clearly audible. Screams, pleas for mercy, and cries erupted instantly, only to be quickly drowned out by the thunder of hooves and maniacal laughter.

A child was trampled by a horse's hoof; his small body flew up like a rag doll and landed motionless.

An old man tried to shield his granddaughter with his body, but was cleaved in two by a scimitar, along with his cane.

The swaddling clothes in the woman's arms were snatched away and thrown on the ground, where they were trampled into a bloody pulp by the horses' hooves.

blood.

Blood was everywhere.

Dark red, warm, viscous blood splattered on the scorched earth, on the withered crop stalks, and on the numb or terrified faces. The stench of blood was so intense that it overwhelmed the burnt and putrid smells, seeping into every pore of Li Bai's body.

His breathing became rapid.

Something is burning in my chest.

It's anger.

It is the anger he felt in his past life when facing Liu Han's gang of thugs, the anger he felt in this life when he learned of Yang Yuhuan's fate, and the even greater and purer anger he felt now when witnessing this hell on earth.

He wanted to draw his sword.

I wanted to rush over.

He wanted to use the sharpness of the Azure Lotus Sword to cut those beastly cavalrymen into pieces.

But... he can't move.

It wasn't that his body was imprisoned, but rather a deeper rule stemming from the "calamity" itself. He was like an observer, fixed in place, only able to see, hear, and feel, but unable to intervene.

After rampaging through the area, the cavalrymen rode away, leaving behind a scene of devastation and even more corpses.

The wind grew colder.

In the wind, the faint sounds of string and wind instruments could be heard.

It was faint, distant, yet undeniably present. It was the sound of a pipa, a sheng and xiao, lively drumbeats, and a woman's enchanting voice. The sound came from... the direction of Chang'an.

Li Bai looked up.

The field of vision seemed to stretch infinitely, piercing through the smoke of war and the distance.

He "saw" Chang'an.

It's not this scorched earth before us, but Chang'an in another time and space, in another dimension.

The palace was brightly lit, its glazed tiles gleaming coldly in the moonlight. Huge palace lanterns hung from the corridors, illuminating the white marble steps as if it were daytime. Inside, dancers in light gauze swayed gracefully to the music, their waists as supple as water snakes. The tables were laden with delicacies—golden-roasted lamb, glistening fish sashimi, mountains of fruits, and amber wine swirling in luminous cups.

On the dragon throne, a figure leaned back lazily.

You can't see their faces clearly, but you can feel the atmosphere of hedonism and decadence.

On both sides, ministers raised their cups and drank heartily, their faces plastered with obsequious smiles. Some were reciting poems aloud, praising the prosperous age; others were conversing in hushed tones, exchanging favors; still others were already drunk, snoring loudly as they lay on their desks.

Inside the vermilion gates, the aroma of wine and meat wafts through the air.

Outside the vermilion gates, mountains of corpses lie.

Two scenes overlapped, intertwined, and collided before Li Bai's eyes.

The stark contrast was like a dull knife, slowly cutting into his nerves.

Then, the scene changed again.

This time, it's Mawei Slope.

The sky was overcast, and a light drizzle was falling. On the muddy post road, soldiers, armed with swords and spears, surrounded a small Buddhist temple. In front of the temple, a woman knelt on the ground. She wore a plain white dress, her hair was disheveled, and her face was pale, but her stunning beauty was still evident.

Yang Yuhuan.

No, it's... Yang Xiaohuan.

That face perfectly overlapped with the face of his wife at their parting in his past life, and the face of their first meeting in Chengdu in this life. The sorrow, helplessness, and despair in his eyes were exactly the same.

A eunuch carrying a white silk ribbon walked up to her.

The voice was shrill and cold: "Your Highness, please proceed on your journey."

The woman raised her head, looking at the bright yellow figure in the distance, surrounded by imperial guards, his back to her. Her lips moved, as if she wanted to say something, but in the end, she said nothing. Tears silently slid down her cheeks, mingling with the rain and dripping into the mud.

She took the white silk ribbon.

He turned around and entered the Buddhist hall.

The door slowly closed.

Li Bai's heart felt as if it had been gripped tightly by an invisible hand, and suddenly stopped beating. A suffocating feeling spread from his chest to his throat. He wanted to shout, to rush over, to smash open that door, but... he still couldn't move.

We could only watch helplessly.

Looking behind that door, a vague figure rose up.

He watched as the white silk cord tightened around his neck.

Watching those once bright and sparkling eyes gradually lose their luster.

"No--"

He roared inwardly.

But no sound came out.

The image is shattered.

Switched again.

This time, it's even more fragmented.

It is a true depiction of Du Fu's poem "Behind the red gates, meat and wine go to waste, while on the road, the bones of those frozen to death lie"—at the back gate of a grand mansion in Chang'an, half-spoiled leftovers are being dumped into a swill bucket, while a few steps away in an alley, a frozen beggar is curled up, already lifeless.

It is a farewell scene of "pulling at clothes, stamping feet, blocking the road and crying, the cries reaching the clouds" - the soldiers forcibly conscript men, the old mother tightly grabs her son's sleeve, crying her heart out, the son's face is full of tears, but he can't break free.

It is the desolation of "the country is broken but the mountains and rivers remain, the city is overgrown with weeds in spring" - the once prosperous Luoyang, the palaces are overgrown with weeds, and crows cry on the broken walls.

Each image is like a red-hot branding iron, searing into Li Bai's soul.

pain.

It's not physical pain, but a deeper pain stemming from conscience and empathy.

In his past life, he was an engineer, studying geology, science, and rationality. He believed in systems, in laws, and in the complexity of history. But at this moment, those rational understandings seemed pale and powerless in the face of such concrete and devastating suffering.

This is a living, breathing person.

They are all flesh-and-blood lives, capable of crying and laughing, loving and hating.

They shouldn't have died like this.

They shouldn't suffer like this.

I don't know how much time passed.

It may be a moment, or it may be forever.

All the images, all the sounds, all the smells, suddenly froze.

It's like pressing the pause button.

The burning flames of war froze in the air; the splattered drops of blood hovered in mid-air; the expressions on the faces of fleeing people were frozen in a moment of despair; the dancers in the palaces of Chang'an remained in their spinning poses; the doors of the Buddhist temple at Mawei Slope stopped just before they were about to close.

Everything was still.

Then, a voice rang out.

grand.

Icy.

There was no emotional fluctuation; it was as if the unchanging law itself was speaking.

The sounds surged in from all directions, directly flooding Li Bai's mind:

"You already know history."

"You possess power."

"You see suffering."

"Now, make your choice."

The moment the words fell, the still image began to move again, but the scope had shrunk. In Li Bai's field of vision, only two focal points remained.

One was An Lushan, a burly man laughing wildly, standing in the distance among the rebel ranks.

One was Li Linfu and Yang Guozhong, who were whispering to each other in the Chang'an Palace, their faces filled with fawning smiles and scheming.

The grand voice rang out again, posing the first question:

"If we kill An Lushan alone."

"This can avert this catastrophe and save the people from suffering."

"but."

"This action will trigger unknown backlash. The river of history has its own restorative power. Forcibly erasing key nodes may cause temporal and spatial disorder and entanglement of cause and effect. The backlash may fall on you—your cultivation will be completely destroyed and your soul will be annihilated; it may also affect your loved ones—Yang Yuhuan, or her reincarnation Yang Xiaohuan, whose fate will be even more tragic, and may even lead to their souls being scattered and never to be reincarnated again."

"So, will you kill me or not?"

The problem struck Li Bai's mind like a heavy hammer.

Kill An Lushan?

He knew history. An Lushan was the instigator of the An Lushan Rebellion, the mastermind behind this catastrophe. If An Lushan had died, the rebellion might not have happened, or at least it might not have erupted on such a large scale. The scene before him, of mountains of corpses, seas of blood, and people displaced, might indeed have been avoided.

To save the people from suffering.

What a great act of merit this is!

But what's the cost?

Unknown backlash.

It could endanger himself, and even more so... endanger Yang Xiaohuan.

The person he wanted to protect across two lifetimes, someone he would do anything to.

If An Lushan is killed, it will cause Yang Xiaohuan's soul to be scattered...

No.

No.

but……

If we don't kill, this hellish scene will become a reality. Tens of thousands will die, countless families will be torn apart, and the entire Central Plains will be plunged into eight years of war. Du Fu's poem will become a reality, and the tragedy of Mawei Slope will unfold as predicted.

Kill one person to save ten thousand.

It's a very simple arithmetic problem.

But that person was a living, breathing human being. Even if he was a demon, the culprit, deciding the life and death of others based on his own will, and carrying out killing in the name of "saving the majority," is that really the right path?

Moreover, is history really that simple?

Would killing An Lushan prevent the rebellion? Would the deep-seated problem of regional warlordism disappear? Would the corruption of the imperial court be eradicated? Perhaps another "An Lushan" would emerge, perhaps the rebellion would break out in another form at another time, or even... perhaps worse.

Li Bai opened his mouth, but his throat was dry and he couldn't make a sound.

Before he could answer, the scene changed again.

The image of the Chang'an palace was magnified and occupied the entire field of vision.

The figures of Li Linfu and Yang Guozhong are clearly visible, and the expressions on their faces—manipulating power and disregarding the common people—are nauseating.

The grand voice raised a second question:

"If we kill treacherous ministers like Li Linfu and Yang Guozhong."

"Rectifying the court and eliminating long-standing abuses may delay the crisis and prolong the life of the Tang Dynasty."

"but."

"This action directly confronts imperial power. Emperor Xuanzong favored both of them, regarding them as his right-hand men. By killing his favored ministers, you are slapping the emperor in the face and committing open rebellion. There will be no possibility between you and Yang Yuhuan. She will become the exclusive possession of imperial power, and you will not even have the chance to catch a glimpse of her from afar."

"and."

"Killing a few treacherous ministers may not cure the deep-seated problems of the regional military governors. The system of military governors has become too powerful to be controlled, the central authority is declining, the treasury is empty, and land is being annexed... These deep-seated contradictions cannot be resolved by killing a few people. Your intervention may only delay the collapse, or it may even trigger an earlier upheaval by disrupting the original balance."

"So, will you kill me or not?"

The second question is equally weighty.

Kill the treacherous officials and purge the emperor's inner circle.

That sounds very righteous.

But the price was... the complete loss of Yang Yuhuan.

The woman who captivated him at first sight, who made him venture into Mount Shu to seek the sword, and who made him willing to endure the agony of being slowly sliced ​​to death to protect.

And does it really work?

In Li Bai's mind, historical knowledge, systems theory, and complex scientific concepts he had learned in his previous life surfaced uncontrollably.

History is a complex and vast system.

The An Lushan Rebellion was not the fault of any one person, but rather the culmination of a long-accumulated series of contradictions. Land annexation led to an increase in displaced people; the breakdown of the equal-field system led to the collapse of the military system; the military governor system led to the rise of powerful regional military governors; central corruption led to a decline in control; and Emperor Xuanzong's neglect of state affairs in his later years led to an imbalance of power…

Even if An Lushan is killed, Shi Siming might still be killed.

After killing Li Linfu and Yang Guozhong, there may be others who fill the power vacuum.

The inertia of a system cannot be changed by removing one or two nodes.

Unless... a radical, systemic change is made.

But could he do that by himself and with just a sword?

He was a poetic genius, a swordsman, but not a politician, not a reformer. He might be able to forcefully implement certain things through military force, but can such "reform" relying on personal authority last? Can it truly penetrate to the core? When he leaves or dies, will everything backfire, or even worsen?

more importantly……

Violence begets violence, killing begets killing.

To decide who should live and who should die based on personal judgment.

How is this any different from the tyrants and bullies he hates who trample on life at will?

Power should be used to protect, not to dominate.

This thought, like a glimmer of light, flashed through his chaotic thoughts.

But soon, they were overwhelmed by the tragic scene before them.

look.

Those corpses.

Those tears.

Those desperate eyes.

If killing one person could stop all of this...

If killing a few people can prolong the prosperous era by a few more years and reduce the suffering of the people...

Shouldn't they have been killed?

Is moral fastidiousness a form of hypocrisy in the face of such a grim reality?

Is this a form of indifference to suffering?

Li Bai felt like his head was about to explode.

Two voices are clashing fiercely.

One voice says: Kill! Sacrificing a minority is necessary for the survival of the majority! This is utilitarian justice! You have the power, and you have the responsibility to use it to stop the disaster!

Another voice says: Don't kill! Once you set this precedent, you'll become a new arbiter, a new tyrant! Power should have limits, and life itself should be respected, even if the other party is evil! Moreover, history is far more complex than you can imagine, and brutal intervention could bring even more terrible consequences!

There is a third voice, faint but persistent: Think of Yang Xiaohuan. If killing An Lushan would cause her soul to be scattered... if killing the treacherous minister would cause her to be trapped in the deep palace forever... what was your original intention in protecting her?

guard.

This word seems so pale and powerless at this moment.

He wanted to protect those he loved.

I also want to protect all living beings.

But when the two conflict, how should one choose?

When the suffering of the common people is so concrete and so tragic, should personal emotions take a backseat?

he does not know.

He really didn't know.

The loud voice stopped urging them.

There was only silence.

The surrounding scene continued to unfold slowly—rebels were killing, civilians were fleeing, Chang'an was indulging in decadence, and the doors of the Buddhist temple at Mawei Slope were about to be completely closed.

Time seemed to stretch out.

Every breath felt like a year.

Li Bai lowered his head and looked at his hands.

The hand holding the Azure Lotus Sword.

His hand was steady, but his knuckles were white from excessive force, and the veins beneath his skin bulged. The sword trembled slightly, its blue light flowing, as if responding to the storm raging within him.

This sword can cut through metal and stone, split mountains, and take a person's head from a thousand miles away.

But... can this moral dilemma be resolved?

Can we break through the heavy weight of history?

Can we save those lives that are destined to perish?

he does not know.

All he knew was that he had to make a choice.

A choice that may lead to no return, and may leave one with endless sins or regrets.

Kill one to save ten thousand?

Or... should we uphold certain principles and stand by and watch thousands die?

Cold sweat trickled down his forehead.

It dripped into the dark red mud at our feet.

Silently.